


With Power Comes Cruelty

by Master_Langdon



Series: Never Knew There Were So Many Kinds Of Hell [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, F/M, FGM, Female Michael, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Trust, Loss of Virginity, Mutilation, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Sex, Surgery, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_Langdon/pseuds/Master_Langdon
Summary: I awaken to find myself in a stranger's bedroom, my bare body carefully shielded from the cold air by pretty bedsheets. I stretch my arms out, only to be blocked on my left side. Beside me lies a man, none other than John Henry Moore himself.The man's eyes flutter open upon being touched. I pull my hand back quickly, fingertips removing themselves from his soft cheek.'Are you afraid of touching me?' he asks, a delighted smile appearing upon his lips. He grabs my hand and places it where I had accidentally placed it just seconds earlier. Before I can pull back my hand a second time, he covers it with his own. His eyes betray how much he enjoys this tiny bit of powerplay. He loves it, but I don't. I truly hate it. And I hate him.





	With Power Comes Cruelty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MonsieurMadeleine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsieurMadeleine/gifts).



> This is my first fic, so please don't be harsh on me. MonsieurMadeleine inspired me to write my own story (and to post it).  
> Also: Michael Langdon is a female in this story!!! I know it is in the tags, but some people seem to have trouble reading those.

I awaken to find myself in a stranger's bedroom, my bare body carefully shielded from the cold air by pretty bedsheets. I stretch my arms out, only to be blocked on my left side. Beside me lies a man, none other than John Henry Moore himself.

The man's eyes flutter open upon being touched. I pull my hand back quickly, fingertips removing themselves from his soft cheek.

'Are you afraid of touching me?' he asks, a delighted smile appearing upon his lips. He grabs my hand and places it where I had accidentally placed it just seconds earlier. Before I can pull back my hand a second time, he covers it with his own. His eyes betray how much he enjoys this tiny bit of powerplay. He loves it, but I don't. I truly hate it. And I hate him.

'Let go of my hand', I say. He gives me a cocky grin, but he does what I ask of him. I then turn my back to him. A warm hand places itself upon my breast. I push his hand away.

 _All men are the same_ , a voice within my head snarls. _The only thing men are capable of seeing in a woman is a set of breast_ _s. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to this deal. Maybe this wasn't the best idea._

'Don't forget', he whispers in my ear. 'I am the reason you were granted a second life. You only live because I wanted you to. You only live because I convinced your Father to let you live.'

'And you won't let me forget', I end his empty threat.

When I look around, I can see that the house's interior looks like that of a regular young couple. On the chair next to the nightstand rests a soft-eying, red bathrobe. I push the covers aside, only to have my hand caught like a bird in a cage once Henry deems it close enough.

'Let go', I command him. He decides to kiss it instead. I pull my hands away from his lips. My legs take my full weight on themselves, trembling slightly. I am like the little mermaid, standing for the first time in... ever. In some way, this is the first time I have ever stood on my feet. Michael may have walked across the earth a million times in his short lifetime, but he exists no more. Instead I was created. One part of me believes that I am still the same person, another part believes that we resemble each other in nothing.

Strange, how I just began to exist. No warning was given, neither to me or the world. But it was the will of my Father. And He isn't obligated to justify whatever he does.

Once the bathrobe is wrapped around my limbs, and the cord is tied, I decide to look around the house. I soon discover that it is comparale to the Murder House. It is large and beautiful, but without the creepy ghosts and other strange things. Once I arrive at a wardrobe, I find a large amount of pretty, female clothing. I search through it for the perfect outfit.

Eventually I go with a red blouse and jeans. Nothing overly complicated. I also grab some undergarments with me.

For some reason I decide to get dressed in the bathroom. I find some makeup in a cabinet next to the sink. When I am done, I decide to try it out. First, I put some red eyeshadow on. The way I have seen grandma do it so often. When I am done, a voice in me complains. Too normal, too boring. I try putting it on the way I did when I was still Michael. That looks a lot better. It doesn't look the way it used to, but at least it is something. I manage to cover my eyelashes with a decent layer of the black liquid without getting it in my eyes. The final touch is a soft colour pink on my lips. I smile at my reflection before leaving the bathroom. Watching grandma put her makeup on every day actually payed off.

'You are gorgeous! I could almost fall in love with you!' Henry exclaims when I re-enter the bedroom. He has not moved since I left the room.

'Aren't you going to get up?' I ask, ignoring his strange comment. 'You have a whole wardrobe to check out.' I walk over to him to pull him out of bed, and he laughs when he gets onto his feet. Something he doesn't seem to have trouble doing. He then kisses me on the lips, which causes me to pull back.

'What's wrong?'

I have kissed before, but only with a woman I really loved. I don't love Henry, and I don't think he actually loves me.

***

'You know we are supposed to be a couple?', Henry suddenly says when we are in bed that evening. His hands sneak around my body again, hands caressing my bare upper body.

'To the outside world we are, but that says nothing about our life inside these walls.' I ignore the hands around my body, solely so I don't create confrontation.

'But I love you.'

Nothing special has happened, and yet he claims he loves me. Or does he really? I turn around to face him. His eyes display something I have never seen before.

'Don't pretend you don't feel the thing', he whispers.

'I feel nothing.'

'You do. You feel lust. For me. And I am about to indulge you in that longing. Just lay back and let me pleasure you.'

He places himself on top of me, careful to not rest too much of his weight on me, which I find quite sweet. He is bare, just like we were this morning. I remove my underwear, chuckling nervously. He kisses me. He is quite gentle at first, but then the kiss becomes hasty. No, hungry is a better word. His tongue dances around my still one. Our hands mirror our tongues: his run along my body, exploring every curve while mine lay still upon his back.

His large cock sticks out. It nearly begs to be touched, and I do. I am quite timid at first, but then I start fisting it. He rewards me with soft, pleasured moans that spill into my mouth. Everything in him tightens just a second before he stops me.

'I've got to save some of the pleasure for later', he explains.

'You liked it, didn't you?'

'Yes, very much. Good girl.' He pats my cheek softly. He then wets his fingers, smiling brightly at me. The sight makes me nervous, but I keep my mouth shut. This is my obligation as a woman. I shouldn't make bigger than it is. It is just sex, a human thing.

His lubricated fingers find their way to my pussy. I gasp when he finds the one piece that pleasures me most. He rubs it carefully, and I start to squirm in pleasure. His fingers push my folds apart.

'Don't you love this?' he asks. 'Don't you want me?'

'Yes, I want you', I respond breathlesly. I press my fingertips into his back in pleasure.

'You will have to beg me for it, darling. You have to beg me for it.' He refuses to allow me any aditional pleasure.

'Please', I say with slight dread in my voice. 'Please allow me some more pleasure.' I try to seduce him into pleasuring me without having to beg too much. I won't go out of my way to give him what he wants. He has to go out of his way to give me what I want. That's the way it goes in all of the movies I had seen in my previous life. A deleted life.

He isn't satisfied with my efforts.

'Beg me. Beg me like your life depends on it.'

'Never!' I still have the will to deny him his pleasure, even if it is sure to backfire.

'You know you want to give in to me.'

'No. I want you to give in to me.' I chuckle, pulling him in for a kiss. The few seconds in which he is rendered uncapable of protesting, I wrap my hand around his. With his pretty  hand, I apply pressure to my throbbing clit. He pulls his hand away, smiling against my lips.

'That is not the way it works', he hisses.

'If you aren't going to pleasure me, then I have no other option but to pleasure myself.'

I rub my own pussy carefully. Only to realize that it is not enough. A certain moisture spreads across my fingers. Henry notices this, and he dips a finger into my tight pussy. The wetness that sticks to his fingers when he brings them back up ends upon my lips. It tastes weird, but definitely not wrong.

My own fingers remain between my legs. I dip a finger into my own pussy as well. My fingers are slick with my own moisture and it eases what could have been quite panful. I manage to push the finger in, all the way to the knuckle. The last bit is dry and slightly painful.

'Don't tell me that you can only take one finger.' He removes my finger from my pussy, then replaces it with his own. He pushes it in all the way to the knuckle. When he is satisfied he adds another finger. He scissors me open, his eyes displaying a mixture of exitement and concentration. He adds a third finger, then he starts to thrust into me. Slow at first, then faster and harder. I gasp once again at the friction it creates.

'Yes, please!' I respond, now near to begging. 'Please let me cum!' It is what I remember my girlfriend crying out when I fingered her.

'That's more like it', Henry says approvingly. 'But not quite.'

'Please, Henry! Please let me cum! I really need to!'

I don't know whether he is satisfied, or overwhelmed with pity, but he allowsme my orgasm. I cry out when it washes over me like a great wave.

We both know that my pussy is not nearly ready to take his enormous cock, but we decide to try anyway. His rockhard cock pushes into me. I expect him to be patient, but he rams it in at once. I let out a raw cry, and tears appear in my eyes. Something within me wants him to pull out, but I don't have the guts nor the actual power to say a thing. I don't push him away either.

_So this is what it is like. Nothing I can't learn to handle.  
_

He starts to move. Just like his fingering, it begins slow and sweet, but it soon turns rough. His fingers I could handle, but his cock is different. I cry out and I dig my nails into his back. And yet again I refuse to put him to a halt. He tightens up once again,and this time there is nothing to interrupt him as he reaches his climax. I can imagine his cum spreading within me.

And it satisfies me.

Henry takes his cock out of me, and shows it to me proudly. It has tiny traces of blood on it. I know what to do.

My fingers close around his shaft. My lips close around the tip of it. I take it i inch by inch. Until it hits the back of my throat. I try to pull back, but apparently that what I do is pleasurable. His hands cup my skull as he forces his cock deeper and deeper down my throat. He keeps my head in place with his hands, and at some point, his hips start to gyrate, and I know what that means.

Soon after, bitter stickiness fills my oral cavity.

'Swallow', he says when he pulls out. I am all too willing to.

___I can get used to this. Perhaps I can even learn to like this._

**Author's Note:**

> For the record: Cody Fern actually said he believes Michael Langdon wears eyeshadow.


End file.
